


Dreams

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Gregory Maguire, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman, Wicked Years Series - Gregory Maguire
Genre: Community: femgenficathon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elphaba lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Date Written: 27-28 August 2011  
> Written for: [](http://femgenficathon.livejournal.com/profile)[**femgenficathon**](http://femgenficathon.livejournal.com/) 2011  
>  Prompt: see below  
> Summary: Elphaba lives.  
> Spoilers: All 3 currently written books & the musical technically are fair game here.  
> Warnings: No standard warnings apply.  
> Website: ShatterStorm Productions – Doggie Duo Fanfic  
> Link to: <http://bdkk.shatterstorm.net/>  
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
> 
> Disclaimer: "Wicked," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Gregory Maguire, Stephen Schwarz, Winnie Holzman, and Universal Pictures. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Wicked," any of its owners, or any representatives of the actors.
> 
> Prompt: _My dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed -- my dearest pleasure when free._ \-- Mary Shelley (1797-1851), English novelist, short story writer, playwright,author of travelogues, biographer, translator, author of children's books, poet, editor and political reformer.
> 
> Author’s Notes: I really wasn't sure who to write about with this quote, as it could work with any of the characters I've played with over the years. And then [](http://ct.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ct**](http://ct.dreamwidth.org/) mentioned Elphaba, and I was off and running. I love exploring Elphaba and her life, so this worked out perfectly. It may not have worked with the prompt to the letter, but Elphaba has always danced to the beat of her own drum.
> 
> Dedication: My muses, as always…
> 
> Beta: Many thanks to [](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**shatterpath**](http://shatterpath.dreamwidth.org/) for the quick and dirty beta, despite never getting more than partway through the first novel in the series. Any and all mistakes still left are completely my fault…

It's not often that I allow myself the luxury of "what if" anymore. Where would the benefit be in that? I cannot change the past any more than I can change other people's feelings, especially where I am concerned. But this exile of mine leaves precious little else for me to do but remember and dream. My bouts of clairvoyance are few and far between now, and I wasn't allowed to bring Turtle Heart's scrying glass with me. Despite that, I do still manage to catch glimpses into the lives of those closest to me as time has passed.

For the longest time, I believed what others said about me and my curious _affliction_. No one could see past the evil of my skin, choosing to blame me rather than the promiscuous and drug-addled mother that bore me. Even when I behaved otherwise, I always heard their disapproving voices in the recesses of my brain. Nothing I ever did was good enough; not for them, not for me. I always had to work so much harder than anyone else, if only to prove that there was more to me that this damnable green skin that I had no part in obtaining.

I think my mother and father would have been happier if I'd wandered off into the marshes of the Quadling Country, never to return again. Perhaps they wished I'd be eaten by some evil creature, removed from their lives for good. My father probably thought I would have deserved it if one of the godless heathens had scooped me up for their cannibalistic pagan rituals. Perhaps he could have spoken some sort of benediction over my bones, redeem me in death, if they hadn't been utilized for some other purpose, of course.

I don't think my mother ever fully forgave herself for the circumstances leading up to my birth. If he hadn't loved her so much, I'm sure my father would have condemned her for her pagan promiscuity. When I was born with my demon skin and teeth, they were too afraid to cast blame where it truly belonged, and they began doing all they could to conceive and deliver a more perfect child than they received in me.

My sister has never needed or wanted me, outside of finding ways to guilt me into do things for her. But Nessarose was the apple of my parents' eyes, and she could do no wrong. She was their redemption for having the horrible green-skinned monster that was me. Well, except for the lack of arms, of course. That was still blamed on me, despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing that I could do about that.

Nanny was almost worse than Father at coddling Nessarose and shunning me. It didn't matter that she didn't believe in the Unnamed God like Father did. She told me more than often enough that if only I had been a normal child, Nessarose would also have been a normal child, and Mother would have settled down from her promiscuous ways long before Turtle Heart ever came into our lives. Despite her Lurlinistic beliefs, I think Nanny was more than a little scandalized by the triangle of love that Turtle Heart brought out in both of my parents.

Ah, Turtle Heart. The looking glass he made me was perhaps my most treasured possession, other than the green bottle I got from my mother. Turtle Heart was one of the few people to ever attempt to treat me as something other than a monster to be reviled. That he died when I was so very young still gives me pause. He sacrificed himself so nobly, and never got to know his only daughter or the son named in his honor. And yet, there was still a stigma around him because of the strange relationship he had with our family. My mother never strayed again after he'd died. Perhaps she finally realized the consequences of her indiscretions. Perhaps she finally understood love.

Shell and I never really had a proper relationship. Our mother's death in delivering him cast a pall over the entire family. It seems oddly fitting that Frexpar's only blood-related child, his only son, was his last. That our mother would have found him to be her favorite for being a boy only made her loss that much stronger for the men in our family. When I went off to study at Shiz, Nessarose and Nanny in tow, Shell remained in the Quadling Country with our father. I think he fell under that Unionist rhetoric even harder than Nessarose did, given what he turned into later on. _Emperor_ Shell? Clearly, he inherited the insanity that has run rampant within the Thropp lineage. It's probably for the best that we grew apart, though I sometimes wonder if I couldn't have prevented that if I'd stayed at home.

At the same time, if I'd stayed in the Quadling Country with Frexspar and my half-siblings, I'd never have met the people that truly influenced my life. I probably would have died far sooner than I did. I wouldn't have met Doctor Dillamond and learned of the plight of the Animals in all of Oz. Galinda -- she wouldn't have become Glinda without meeting me and Doctor Dillamond -- and Avaric would have married and become the Wizard's poster couple of power and popularity. Crope and Tibbett would never have gone to the Philosophy Club the night Ama Clutch died; Tibbett wouldn't have been so traumatized by that Tiger, precluding any sort of normal life for him.

If I'd stayed behind to help raise my brother, I never would have met the Wizard and Madame Morrible, found out what evil people they really were. I never would have saved Brrr or gotten involved in the Animals plight for equality. I never would have met Fiyero or Glinda; never would have felt the pangs of love found and lost. And what of Liir and the granddaughter he gave me through Candle? She is Oz's future, _my_ future.

I may be thought dead to them, but I am not truly dead. I cannot die. I am Elphaba, Thropp Third Descending. I am the reincarnated Saint Aelphaba, hidden behind my veiled waterfall to await my triumphant return. I am in the child growing up with skin that proclaims her my kin without any doubts. I will be back when the time is right; until that day, I shall wait and watch over all of them, and feel my strength growing.

Elphaba lives.


End file.
